


Yakov's Shitty Day

by Adrianna99, imaginary_dragonling, Issa_Z



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gardens, Gen, Humor, LLYBB Bing, Pets, Prompt Fic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrianna99/pseuds/Adrianna99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issa_Z/pseuds/Issa_Z
Summary: “Yakov! What a surprise. What can we do for you this morning?” His neighbor gives him what he no doubt thinks is a winning smile, playing innocent.“Nikiforov, you know exactly why I’m here. Don’t play dumb with me,” Yakov says gruffly.Yakov scowls at Viktor and his heart-shaped mouth, eyes twitching as he notes the fluffy bathrobe and house slippers the man is dressed in. Yakov points to Makkachin. “Keep her out of my garden. I don’t appreciate her unpleasant surprises ruining my rose bushes.” Yakov glares at Makkachin. Makkachin boofs back at him, unrepentant.





	Yakov's Shitty Day

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in associating with the Live and Love Bang as a mini bang, or a bing. Us writers worked with the lovely Issa, whose art for this fic can be found [here](http://missarafdraw.tumblr.com/post/172238501821/this-is-my-piece-for-the-1st-bing-of-the-love-live) and at the end of the story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Yakov finds _it_ under his prized rose bushes. His nostrils flare as much from indignation as from the pungent stink of the object of his disgust. It is a sickly yellowish-brown glob, sitting in a lumpy coil under the leaves of his beautiful roses, whose heads seem to droop and bob in disapproval as the nasty surprise taints the sweet scent of his roses, poisoning the air around it.

It’s not so much a question of why as of who, or rather, what and the vein in his temple begins to throb as Yakov’s mind settles on the culprit. Yakov’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding against each other. He stops that as soon as he notices though. His dentist has already far too happily chirped about how worn down his molars are and he’s not about to be conned into getting dentures.

Scowling and glaring the whole time, Yakov disposes of the offending package, puts away his tools before marching down his cobblestone pathway, turning sharply left and past the cherry blossom tree before marching up the pathway of the house next to his. The gravel crunches underfoot and Yakov huffs as he climbs the three steep steps up to the porch. He raps on the smooth oak door of the house and a resounding bark answers him.

Yakov wipes his brow with his handkerchief and straightens his polo shirt, listening as the voices inside hush the barking and call out to each other. The locks click and Yakov draws a breath and puffs out his chest as the door swings open.

Bright blue eyes beneath disheveled silver hair widen in surprise and Yakov bites back the twinge of disappointment that it’s not the other one to greet him.

“Yakov! What a surprise. What can we do for you this morning?” His neighbor gives him what he no doubt thinks is a winning smile, playing innocent.

“Nikiforov, you know exactly why I’m here. Don’t play dumb with me,” Yakov says gruffly.

Viktor Nikiforov blinks back at him, surprise written on his refined features. “Yakov, I’m not sure-- no, Makka!” Yakov steps back in haste as the poodle’s wet nose pokes at his trousers. Nikiforov catches the dog’s collar just in time as it attempts to dart out around him. “Makkachin, what did we teach you about running up to guests?”

The dog, Makkachin, barks in response, sitting down by Nikiforov’s feet and panting up at Yakov, tongue lolling out of her open mouth.

“Good girl, Makka,” Nikiforov coos, smiling down fondly at his dog as if she had just won Best in Bloom at the fair. The crease in Yakov’s forehead deepens.

“Nikiforov--” Yakov stops at the hand his neighbor raises.

“Please, Yakov. How many times have I said you can call me Viktor?” Viktor beams at him.

Yakov scowls at Viktor and his heart-shaped mouth, eyes twitching as he notes the fluffy bathrobe and house slippers the man is dressed in. Yakov points to Makkachin. “Keep her out of my garden. I don’t appreciate her unpleasant surprises ruining my rose bushes.” Yakov glares at Makkachin. Makkachin boofs back at him, unrepentant.

“I’m not sure I understand, Yakov.” Viktor’s eyes go round, innocent. They flick to the right, over the neat expanse of sand and gravel, across the grass which marks the beginning of Yakov’s garden, and to the row of bushes planted around Yakov’s house. He tilts his head in puzzlement. “Surprises? I love surprises! What surprise are you talking about?”

A vein pops in Yakov’s forehead, and his left eye twitches. “The messes,” he grinds out, fists clenching at his sides as he thinks about his beautiful roses, sullied by the “gifts” from his neighbor’s unruly dog. “If you’re going to have a dog, the least you could do is clean up its messes.”

Viktor’s smile flickers.  “First of all,” he says in a level voice.  “My darling Makkachin is a _she_ , not an _it_. And I thought excrement was good for plants. Fertilizer, isn’t that right?”

“If I wanted free ‘fertilizer’ I would ask for it!” Yakov snaps.

Viktor blinked, looking taken aback. “There’s no need to get so excited,” he says, looking a little bemused.  “Anyway, Makka didn’t poop in your garden.”

Yakov seethes. “I don’t know who else would,” he growls. “Unless you’re suggesting it was a _person_.”

Viktor covers his mouth with his hand, not quickly enough to hide his amused smile. “I certainly didn’t say anything like that.” Yakov exhales sharply and opens his mouth furiously, ready to finally give his neighbor a _real_ piece of his mind, but before he is able to say anything Viktor interrupts, “How fresh did you say it was? The mess you found, I mean.”

Yakov forces himself to let out a long breath. “Still steaming.”

“Mm,” Viktor murmurs, and then turns away a bit and calls over his shoulder, “Yuuri?”

“What is it, Vitya?” a voice answers from deeper in the house, and a moment later Viktor’s husband pads to the door to join the conversation. Yakov relaxes slightly. In his (admittedly limited) experience with his neighbors, this one is the more reasonable one.

Yuuri leans against Viktor’s side and offers Yakov a welcoming smile. “How can I help you?”

“Has Makka been walked this morning?” Viktor asks, giving his husband a sappy, adoring smile.  Yuuri shakes his head, glancing curiously at Yakov as if confused as to his purpose for being there. “So did she poop in Mr. Feltsman’s yard?” Viktor presses as if he’s a lawyer leading a witness at the stand, and Yuuri shakes his head again.

“She hasn’t been outside since I walked her last night,” he says. “She really only goes to the bathroom in our yard, anyway, I don’t think she’d wander over to yours.” Yuuri rubs the sleep from his large brown eyes with the sleeve of the oversized sweater slipping down one shoulder.  Even though he’s even less presentable than Viktor despite it being nearly eight o’clock on a Sunday, Yakov finds that he can’t quite work up the same level of annoyance that Viktor seems to inspire so effortlessly.

Viktor turns back to Yakov, triumphant. “You see?” he says, and the note of victory in his voice is unmistakable. “I’m sorry to hear that you don’t appreciate free fertilizer from one of your neighbors, but it isn’t _our_ puppy that you have to thank.”

“Are we sure it was a dog?” Yuuri scratches at his head, making his bed head even worse.

“Chris does have a cat,” Viktor taps at his lips with his forefinger, looking thoughtful.

Viktor and Yuuri’s gazes trail towards the house opposite theirs and Yakov suppresses a shiver. Viktor and Yuuri may annoy Yakov, but between them and their Swiss neighbor, Yakov will take them any day. Yuuri at least listens to reason and Viktor listens to Yuuri.“It’s fine,” Yakov says, feeling himself deflate. He sighs before pointing at Makkachin. “Please keep her out of my garden. The petunias are starting to bloom and are rather delicate at this time of the year. I don’t want her digging around the flower beds,” Yakov scowls for emphasis.

Yuuri’s eyes go wide. “We’re sorry you’re having such trouble, Mr. Feltsman. We’ll make sure Makka doesn’t cross over and disturb you. Would you like to come in and have some tea? The kettle should be whistling any minute now.”

The last of Yakov’s anger dissipates at the invitation. He’s considering his answer when he sees Viktor practically melt into Yuuri’s side, long arms sliding around his husband’s waist and chin coming to rest on Yuuri’s bare shoulder. A faint blush tints Yuuri’s cheeks and Yakov clears his throat. “No thank you,” he says gruffly. “I have someone coming over for lunch. I should go.”

Yuuri’s face falls, conveying his disappointment and understanding. Yakov finds himself reflecting the regret in those expressive eyes. “Of course,” Yuuri says. “Have a lovely day, then, Mr. Feltsman. And please do let us know if Makka is ever a real problem, and we’ll be sure to take care of it.”

Yakov smiles in spite of himself. “Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.” He turns to go, and just barely manages not to flinch when he senses the dog at his back, Viktor holding her back with a gentle hand on her collar.

As Yakov wends his way through the Japanese-style garden and back to his own house, the front door opposite Viktor and Yuuri’s opens and Christophe Giacometti strolls out, a mug of coffee in one hand and with nothing but a skimpy towel wrapped around his waist.

“Good morning, Yakov!” Chris waves, pearly whites flashing as he settles in the lounge chair on his porch.

Yakov grunts and rolls his eyes, turning resolutely towards his own front door. He really does need to start making the peach tart and the partridge stew for lunch. Lilia is coming over.

***

Yakov concentrates on his cooking. Only loud excited barking and two voices calling out to Makkachin break through his preoccupation. Looking out the window, Yakov glimpses Viktor and Yuuri in Viktor’s lurid pink convertible driving away, Makkachin settled in Yuuri’s lap in the front passenger seat. Yakov snorts and turns back to the pie crust he had just pulled out of the oven.

Lilia Baranovskaya sits across from him, eating as neatly and quickly as she had when he had first met her. Her face is a little more wrinkled, there’s more grey pulled into her bun than he remembers, and she squints more often than she will ever admit. But her eyes are still bright and sharp and clear, her movements still graceful, and her back is still straight, poised with pride and from her strict upbringing. She’s still the most beautiful women he knows, and even though it’s better now that they don’t live together, he still loves her. Their relationship isn’t one of passion and lust anymore. But that’s OK. They’re still bound together by the many shared memories and by the children and grandchildren they raised and watched grow together. Now that they are no longer confined by the promises of marriage, in many ways they are even better friends than they once were, and Yakov always looks forward to the chance to see his friend and catch up on what he has missed in her life.

Yakov serves tea with the tart after the stew has been cleared away, and they both pore over their respective stacks of holiday cards from their family. Even though the faces smiling up at them are the same, the cards are never identical. Their children know that Lilia and Yakov still visit with each other, and exchanging holiday cards is something that they do.

“Anna lost a tooth last week,” Lilia says, tucking the last card back into its envelope. “She told me about the money the tooth fairy left her. Katerina indulges her too much.” Lilia sips her tea, but her smile is fond and her words lack any bite. Yakov hides his own smile behind his teacup. “Anyway,” Lilia drains her cup, “I must be off soon. Can you show me around the garden? I’d love to see how the tulips are doing.”

Yakov walks with Lilia outside and he says a quick prayer of thanks that he found that unwanted present early this morning. The rose bushes pass Lilia’s inspection as do the tulips and daffodils. They’ve rounded the house and Yakov is leading Lilia to the backyard when he sees it and stops short.

“Oh, Yakov, really!” Lilia protests as she bumps into him. “What are you-- oh my.”

The backyard has been dug up — piles of dirt next to shallow holes pit the ground, the roots of the grass small, pale white tendrils reaching up to the sun. In with the piles of dirt are the torn leaves of weeds and flowers alike, and the wriggling bodies of worms rudely unearthed from their cool, dark homes.

“My puschkinia!” Lilia cries and hurries over to the pale blue bulbs, some of them laying horizontal and forlorn on the ground. “What happened here?” Lilia glares at Yakov, cradling two that have been torn up by their roots.

“I-I don’t know,” Yakov’s hands feel cold, “They were fine this morning. It must have happened while we were having lunch.” His hands clench into fists and his gaze rakes over his ruined garden towards the house next door. The windows stare back at him, blank and lifeless. Yakov recalls the screech of tires and a happy bark from several hours earlier.

Striding towards the front of the house, Yakov looks towards the spot where Viktor’s convertible is usually parked. It’s conspicuously empty. Yakov’s shoulders sag, before a twitch of movement catches his eye. Looking across the street, Chris is laid out on his lounge chair, sunglasses on and hands folded over a book on his chest.

Yakov takes a deep breath, drawing himself up to his full height, and stalks several steps in the direction of Chris’ house.

Lilia catches his arm. “Yakov,” Lilia calls, sounding more confused than anything. “Where are you going?”

“To get to the bottom of this,” Yakov grits out. He gets as far as the sidewalk before Lilia pulls hard on his arm, jerking him backward and preventing him from getting knocked over by a large husky puppy chasing an old, slightly mangy cat.

“Oi! Potya! Come here!” A blond child appears around the corner, chasing after the animals. His pale blond hair whip against his face and Yakov glimpses intense, green, angry eyes before the boy speeds past in pursuit.

The cat gives a yowl, making a U-turn on the street, slipping past the boy’s skinny, outstretched arms, and running straight towards Yakov and Lilia. Lilia screams as the cat, Potya, according to the boy’s yelled curses, runs rings around them and up Lilia’s shoulder before jumping off and away to scramble up the cherry blossom tree. The husky is in a state of excitable frenzy chasing after the cat, and Yakov lunges for and misses it.

“Yakov, what is going on?” Lilia clutches at Yakov, helping to pull him to his feet and brush at the grass stains on his elbows.

The boy is standing under the tree, arms waving and shouting profanities at the husky who is barking non-stop at the boy, cat temporarily forgotten.

Before Yakov can gather himself to halt the blond boy’s foul-mouthed tirade — because really, youths these days — a jaunty _beep_ sounds from up the street and a pink convertible pulls into view.

Viktor has no sooner pulled up by the front of his house when Makkachin gives a joyful bark and leaps from the car onto the pavement.

“Oh no, there’s another one?!” the blond boy exclaims in dismay and Yakov cannot help but agree.

Makkachin and the husky have a wild time, prancing and barking around each other, deaf to the calls from Viktor and Yuuri. There’s a shower of pale pink as the branches of the cherry blossoms shake in distress before a cream shadow darts down the trunk and back up the road.

“Potya!” The blond boy cries and that’s enough to cut through the ruckus.

The husky gives a joyful yelp and away it went, resuming the chase. The bedraggled cat gives a mournful cry before launching itself across the road, and into the arms of a passing motorcyclist.

Yakov watches with his heart in his mouth as the motorcyclist swerves, somehow managing to keep his balance and avoid crashing into the husky who had come gamboling after him.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” The blond boy races towards the motorcyclist.

“Is this your cat?” The motorcyclist asks, killing his engine and holding the cat safe against his chest, away from the husky. Potya mewls pitifully, trembling in the motorcyclist’s firm grip.

“Yeah, that’s Potya,” the blond says, reaching out for his pet. “Get away, you stupid dog.” The dog avoids the boy’s half-hearted kick and backs away. “Potya...” The blond boy exhales with relief, collecting his cat and holding her close. “Thanks,” he says, “I’m Yuri. Thanks for saving Potya…”

“Otabek,” the motorcyclist says, unbuckling his helmet. His face is a study in stoicism, but his dark brown eyes watch Yuri and Potya closely, and Yakov sees that he’s much younger than he had first thought. “Was that your--”

“Young man.” Lilia raises her voice and both boys turn towards her. “That was dangerous and irresponsible. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Both boys seem to shrink under her imperious glare and once glance at Lilia’s face convinces Yakov not to interfere.

“It wasn’t my fault,” the blond boy, Yuri, grits out, dragging his feet as he walks back down the street, Potya clutched to his chest.

Lilia gives him an appraising, sharp-eyed look.  “If your cat is so prepared to run away, perhaps you should keep it inside more often.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, and Yuri’s expression darkens.  “I said, it wasn’t my fault,” he insists before turning his glare to the husky.  Viktor has gotten control of Makkachin, holding her by the collar with a small frown, while Yuuri is crouched down by the husky, holding it in a loose hug to prevent it from running into the street again.  “Is that your dog?” Yuri asks Yuuri, looking about three seconds away from an explosion. Yuuri looks up sharply from where he has been quietly petting the husky to calm him down.

“No, he’s not mine,” he says with a small smile. The husky licks him on the cheek and he laughs quietly.

Yakov hears a soft click and looks towards the sound. Chris lowers his phone, checking his screen and gives Yakov a cheeky wink. Yakov harrumphs and rolls his eyes, focusing on the troublesome husky again.

“Well, then whose is he?” Yakov snaps. “That must be the dog who had been digging up my garden.”

The neighbors all stand in silence, looking around at each other in an effort to figure out who the husky belongs to. And then from behind them, down the street, a voice says, “What are you doing with my dog?”

Yakov whirls around to see the young man that had moved in down the street walking towards them, his hands in his pockets and a blank expression on his face. His eyes flick between the group gathered there: Chris on his porch, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle; Otabek with his helmet tucked under his arm and hands in his pocket; Yuri, looking as agitated as the frazzled cat he was holding; Lilia, stern and fully composed again, without a hair out of place; Viktor, hanging on to Makkachin who is trying to leap towards the husky still; Yakov, who gives him his best scowl; and finally to Yuuri, hair disheveled but with a small smile tugging at his lips. Yakov see’s the young man’s expression soften — thick, well-arched eyebrows and narrowed eyes relaxing as he approached Yuuri and the husky.

Yuuri gets to his feet, but keeps a hand in the husky’s ruff to prevent him from running away.  “Is he yours?” he asked with a small, welcoming smile, and the other young man nods.

“Come here,” he says, sticking out one hand, and the husky trots over obediently. The young man absently threads his fingers through the fur on the husky’s back, and then turns his attention to Yakov and says, “My family and I just moved here. Jangmi slipped out while we were moving. We’ve been looking for him since yesterday.” The young man turns to Yakov. “Did he mess up your garden?”

Yakov feels his face redden. “Mess up my garden? Did he ever mess up my garden! He--”

“I’m sure Jangmi meant no harm,” Viktor interjected, flashing Yakov and the young man a brilliant smile. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a bit of time and tender loving care, right? Perhaps our new friend here can come over and help fix it up as reparation and we can all get to know each other and forget about this in the name of neighborly love? Isn’t that right, Yakov?” Viktor fixes Yakov with a dazzling smile.

“I’m very sorry if my dog caused you trouble. I’d be glad to help with your garden,” the young man says, eyeing Yakov.

“Fantastic!” Viktor says. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Mister…”

“Seung-gil,” the man supplies and Jangmi barks in reply.

Yakov lets out a breath. Seung-gil seems sincere enough, even though his expression hasn’t changed much. “Well--”

“Hang on, your dog terrorized my cat,” Yuri snarls. “Puma Tiger Scorpion and I won’t stand for that.” Yuri glares at Seung-Gil, who stares back at him, face impassive.

Silence ensues. A loud snort breaks the tension. “Puma Tiger _what?_ ” Chris lets out a laugh and soon everyone with the exception of Seung-Gil and Yuri is chuckling quietly, even the stoic Otabek hides a cough behind his hand.

“What?!” Yuri looks furious, face red and eyes narrowed.

“Now now, mon cheri, your pet will recover,” Chris wipes at his eyes, “Why don’t you bring her over? I have some catnip and my cat knows how to share and will not mind. There is no lasting harm done.”

Puma Tiger Scorpion aka Potya gives a pitiful meow and Yuri wavers between exploding and caving in. A leather gloved hand lands on Yuri’s shoulder.

“Why don’t we go inside? I’d love to get to know Potya more,” Otabek says to Yuri and Yuri concedes defeat.

“Yes,” Yuuri pipes up. “We’ve just been to the store and found the most wonderful tea. I can make some for everybody if you’d like?” Yuuri’s eager eyes are alight with hope and Yakov feels the last of his anger crumble away.

“Right, we will bring over some of the peach tart we have leftover,” Lilia announces, and Yakov looks at her in surprise.

“We will what?” Yakov balks when Lilia’s words register. Lilia raises a penciled eyebrow at him. “Hmmph right. We’ll be right over with the peach tart.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, looking around at everyone gathered there, “Why don’t we have a garden party? There are a lot of us to fit into a house.”

“Amazing idea, Yuuri!” Viktor exclaims. “My husband is so smart!”  His eyes slide over to meet Yakov’s, who feels his stomach begin to sink. “Let’s meet in Yakov’s garden! It’s the most beautiful one in the neighborhood and I’ve heard so much about the roses and how well fertilized they are!”

Everyone, including Lilia, are nodding and murmuring in agreement. Viktor’s teeth are pearly white and completely even. A small, bitter part of Yakov almost wants to knock them out.

With a toss of his silver hair, Viktor begins to usher everyone towards Yakov’s garden. “I’ll bring some folding chairs over from our place.” Viktor leans in to kiss Yuuri before striding away to his house, a happily panting Makkachin in tow.

The rest of them move towards Yakov’s’ backyard and it is not long before there is a crowd in Yakov’s back garden, small groups of talking neighbors.

“They had better not step on my garden,” Yakov grumbles, keeping a very careful eye on his roses. Lilia pats his arm sympathetically, but she seems more amused than anything. Yakov just barely manages to restrain himself when Viktor takes a step too close to his peonies, but luckily his husband pulls him back with a gentle touch before he can do any damage.

The dogs bark, the cats mewl, and they spend the better part of the day getting to know each other. Yuri’s grandfather, Nikolai, even comes over, and Yakov appreciates the taciturn nature of the older man in comparison to the noisy kids and pets in his garden.

It is a surprise when Lilia announces that she really must be going and Yakov finds that the sun is setting and the evening chill has wound its way into the wind. There are many cheerful goodbyes, phone numbers are exchanged, and promises of meeting again made.

And Yakov finds that he doesn’t mind, even when Makkachin and Jangmi leave two little gifts for him under his roses to sweep up the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoyed this fic, it was a lot of fun to work on together :D Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Info about the Live and Love Bang [here](https://liveloveyoibang.tumblr.com/))


End file.
